


Secrets Underground

by necronism



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anyway there are GIFs., Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Other, Resident Evil - Freeform, Shane Walsh - Freeform, but lbr I wrote it for shane..., tbh this could be Frank Castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13620213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necronism/pseuds/necronism
Summary: Under the dome the military has placed Raccoon City, Shane Walsh is growing restless. At night time, the streets are patrolled but his interests have been piqued for weeks, months of waiting for an answer. It will take what "training" he has to get into the medical base he has seen more protected - and probably has the answers he needs.





	Secrets Underground

_(the starter / prompt:)_

* * *

 

Getting by as a no-face citizen of the city wasn't as difficult as it looked; with everyone scurrying home under a curfew but no officers or police officials truly enforcing the law, plenty of people wandered out in the shadows. Skeevy, disgusting folk that put their wealth from drugs and murder ahead of their own safety. And why would they give that up? These days, it seemed as though the bums under the bridges waving their " **_END IS NEAR_ ** " signs weren't too far off. The panic had been quiet, rising in a steady hum whenever the soldiers padded through the streets, faces covered, nameless, following no general in particular but clearly there for one purpose.

Now, Shane had never been in the military, but in a brief stint down South as a cop before his behavior cost him a discharge, he knew how panic worked on the society. Looting was sporadic, muggings increased and even a few stabbings and back-alley murders. All of which seemed to be overlooked and bodies taken away in a van he could describe as, well, certainly not the count coroner's vehicle. He knew panic was enough, at times, to bring in the big guns, the one she had seen often quarantining buildings uptown. Not born and raised, he had heard the stories of this almost fabled "Raccoon City" that had been destroyed in an outbreak. He had been shown photos of the symbol so many people seemed to cringe away from, the one that seemed to be seeping back into the city. But hadn't those **_umbrella_ **  seal been discontinued as of late?

He had his back pressed the brick wall, face barely covered by the sharp shadow that crossed into the alley. The time in the building over read 11PM, well past the curfew. This wasn't his first time doing this, among the panicked masses, but he was the only one who wanted answers enough to fight for it. Shane rubbed his hands together, breathing hard before pulling the balaclava up over his nose, trucker hat down over his eyes, and ducking down to move behind the dumpsters along the alley. These soldiers infested every corner of the city, idly waiting and never looking too busy. They often stood in groups or two or three with a spotter watching the road for oncoming headlights. They paid no mind to the homeless, often encouraging them to provoke their prowess or throw cans and rocks at them. A mindless bunch, a brainless mind hive.

It was harder still to find one that would go off on their own, whether to take a piss or because they were as bored as the rest of them. There would always be that one straggler, no name tag, no discernible features that set them out from the rest. That's what made this plan before seem genius, he now had to enact it, waiting behind the trash bins that offered barely any coverage. He had to balance on his haunches, slow his breathing as he listened to the soldier stumble on down the alley, humming some broken tune. Funny, he had no idea they were human at this point.

At the pull of the zipper, he made a crouched dash to the man and pinned him against the wall, holding the back of the helmet to ram his head against the brick. There had been a faint protest, only meant with the rattled **_thunk!_ ** before silence. Shane held for a moment, listening for any others before he dragged the soldier back into the shadows to undress him, and redress himself. He didn't give a shit what happened to this guy, even when he saw his face and drew the conclusion that he might be someone's son, brother, husband, father. _Might_.

It was a tight fit in military tactical gear. He had seen the SWAT force themselves into less comfortable gear and Shane knew that wiggle room would only come soon enough. And over the past few days of walking alongside these people, voiceless and anonymous, he learned very little from their chatter or radio speak. They mostly seemed bored, going on about the "Tyrant" whatever that was. Shane hadn't been here for any incident, big or small, and he was just bouncing off their muttering. There was a facility, a headquarters, and that much he knew. That he had to get somewhere with these people, uproot himself from his homely little apartment and figure it out. Be _that_ hero...

Shane remembered the silence that passed over him as the armored vehicle bringing back several soldiers passed the checkpoint into the facility's grounds. How he had held his breath for no reason and shut his eyes tight behind his goggles. Guilt was replaced by adrenaline, and he kept a hand on the stock of his issued gun. He remembered his heart felt as if it had stopped beating as he stepped out of the vehicle and loosened his own collar. Was this the standard "going-home" procedure here? They were aloof enough for him to part ways and get into the nearest corridor, immediately ducking into a bathroom to rip off his mask and gasp in what air he could find. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Shane knew he regretted a lot of what was going on, but he was too far in, and too close to give up on whatever truths could be found out.

 _But what are you going to_ **_do_ ** _with this information?  
_ _Black-mail the authorities that don't even have a name?_  
Send it to the local press so they can circulate a bunch of gibberish?

_Why don't you ever think?_

__

On the way out of the bathroom, Shane turned his hand into the open hallway and snagged a card from a passing doctor. In fact, he took several, noting the colors on the corners and the numbers on the other side. There were levels, no matter how small the facility looked, or at least how many stories it appeared to have. He was getting in now, sneaking around without a name-tag and no one paid any mind. If anyone gave him a glance, he'd lift the hand holding the cards in some sort of lazy wave and that would be enough to authorize his existence here.

Once parted from the group, he pressed his back to the first office door he could find and swiped the card. Nothing much to be found in there though, keeping the door locked and propped shut. The computers all had passwords that couldn't be found flipping through any personal notepads. Of course not. This was no doubt a secret military and medical base and here he was honestly thinking PASSWORD1 was sufficient enough? A few doors over, he found the stairs down to the other levels, going down until he passed a door that had a card lock. Noting what floor he was on, he picked the matching card and swiped. After a delayed beep, the door unlock and clicked forward.

From then on, Shane didn't recall much happening. The floor was dark, quiet, the vents blasting enough cold air to make him pull his crumpled coat closed a little tighter around him. All the windows were bulletproof, laced with those crossing black lines. Empty beds laid out under flickering fluorescent lights. That alone was what brought it all home for Shane, the suspicious factor ticking up in the back of his skull, the hair on his arms prickling as he tried to look into each individual room. The key card for that corresponding floor didn't open any office or medical rooms, so he was left wandering several corridors trying to find his way back to the stairs; a most dizzying effort, stopping only when he found the one unlit hallway, and hearing his own footfalls echo down into the darkness.

This abyss seemed to stare back, coaxing Shane not to look away but instead wonder what was down there. It happened in every nightmare filled with fear and hatred of the knowing, to every child that stared at the closet door they could have sworn opened on its own. Noise began to fill his head, a buzzing, cacophony of static and voices, but even then, he only tore his gaze away when he felt something on his lip. Swiping his sleeve across his mouth, he broke the gaze of the abyss and looked down to find a smear of red in the fabric.

He looked up first and he didn't even know why. He touched his face again and wiped his nose across his knuckles. Alright, it was his own, but it wasn't as if that was going to answer any questions. Shane pressed on from the daunting expanse, finding the stairs and taking the winding flights back... _up_ ... He could have sworn, but it felt as if he was going nowhere, getting nowhere, taking them two, three at a time to get back to the main goddamn floor... He thought... he was.... **_moving_ **... moving...

♫ **_Shining bright to see what you can truly be_ ** **_—_ ** ♫

His phone clattered along the bedside table, playing the ringtone he had chosen, ironically, because it was annoying and would get him to look at his phone a helluva lot faster. The first thing  Shane noticed was the sunlight, and that he was back in his apartment, with the same tattered currents letting in the small spots of the rising sun to cast over his face. The next thing he noticed, upon sitting up and reaching for his phone, that he was in the same clothes that he last... recalled himself in.

Not under the covers, not even an attempt to move them. Almost as if he had been thrown onto it and left there. He looked to the door to find the lock down, no signs of a break-in. Across from where he sat, he could see his reflection in the mirror, brow split and held together by medical tape, the same went for his left cheek and a split lip. The pain only reared itself when he touched the wounds, wincing. It must have been some fight he didn't know. Had it been that facility? No, they would have... killed him on the spot.

Shane now checked his phone, throwing his legs off the bed. Much to his surprise, they were sore as well, but not broken. No text messages and no signal. How had someone even called, let alone leave a voicemail? He let it play, hearing some woman's voice that sounded almost disconnected from the world. This couldn't have been a coincidence, could it have? She wasn't announcing he had won any prize for getting in and out of the facility alive, nor was she telling him he had X-amount of hours to evacuate the city, they were coming for him. Oh, he would have chuckled at the thought were he back in Georgia or Kentucky, but he knew plenty of things happened in the Midwest that was left to the CIA and FBI to handle. This was something he had stumbled upon, a hornet's nest he had crept in to and touched the queen before-- **_before what?_ **  He tried to think back, but that only made the distant whine return.

The number didn't have an area code that Shane knew off the top of his head, but it wouldn't hurt to call back. Picking himself up from the bed, he dialed back. He just missed them, it couldn't be that busy. Or maybe it was all a scam. Right, a scam that had nearly put a dent in his skull. Shane winced again as he touched his split lip, turning his head from side to side, inspecting the damage someone... or **_something_ **... had dealt to him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a starter I got on rp.me that I replied to but never heard anything back. Shame, really, because I would have loved to explore Shane Walsh in this universe. Ah, well! I hope you enjoyed this tiny thing. I either turn it into something bigger or I don't (and probably won't because I don't know classic RE as much as I'd love to).


End file.
